


teach me new caresses

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bedannibal in Florence, Expressing Affection, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 12:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14914989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: “Tell me, Hannibal, did you have any fantasies concerning me during our sessions?” she asks unexpectedly, her tone nonchalant as if she were asking him for to top up her drink.For a prompt: Bedelia sits on Hannibal's lap.





	teach me new caresses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caissa/gifts).



Like a perfected ritual, her arrival is announced by the smell of jasmine drifting slowly from the bathroom. Hannibal closes his eyes for a brief moment and inhales deeply, anticipating the notes of her skin to soon join the bath salts’ aroma. Her steps are silent as she walks across the apartment in a swirl of silk to join him by the fireplace. She offers him a smile as she sits down in her usual armchair, her skin still flushed from her bath, the pink of her cheeks complementing the hue of her robe. She nods in appreciation, noticing a glass of port is already prepared for her. Hannibal slowly tastes his own drink, enjoying watching her settle herself, the large chair enfolding her completely.

An established ritual, one of many, and Hannibal cherishes every one of them. He continues to observe as she sips on her liquor, her hair falling softly over the side of her face, and once again wishes they had replaced the two chairs with a sofa. That would so much more _comfortable_. His fingers twitch, wanting to sweep her hair aside and brush her neck, but he remains seated. They have come a long way to get here, he ponders, reflecting on the other two chair they had occupied for so many years.

Bedelia places her glass to a side, now watching him in turn. She smiles briefly, her expression otherwise unreadable, as he shifts in his chair and crosses his legs.

“Does this setting remind you of our therapy sessions?” she asks suddenly, reading his thoughts perfectly, as always.

Hannibal chuckles and uncrosses his legs.

“I was actually considering how _far_ from therapy sessions this is.”

Bedelia hums in response, her thoughts remaining hidden, and takes another sip of her drink.

“Tell me, Hannibal, did you have any fantasies concerning me during our sessions?” she asks unexpectedly, her tone nonchalant as if she were asking him for to top up her drink.

“We have already _discussed_ it. At length,” he grins widely, his eyes beaming at her.

“I am not talking about sexual fantasies. That is too obvious,” she presses on, not affected by his expression, “I meant, any _romantic_ fantasies?”

“I thought everything comes down to sex, in one way or the other.”

“Not with you,” she retorts and Hannibal’s head tilts to the side in silent appreciation. He enjoys the way she continues to pick him apart and study the pieces attentively.

Her eyes remain fixed on him, blue flames shining with bright curiosity, as she waits for him for answer her question. Hannibal clears his throat and fortifies himself with a mouthful of port. They have stepped on an uncharted ground and each step requires caution.

“I do not recall,” he attempts to end the subject, but his eyes dart to the side, giving him away.

Not that his words would mislead her anyway. Her gaze narrows at once, silently whispering _liar._

“Really?” she persists, her fingers tracing the brim of her glass.

Hannibal merely smiles, opting for silence, any further effort to evade her would fail miserably. A tiny smile tugs at her lips and she hides it behind another sip, still regarding him closely. But she does not question him further. Hannibal watches as she pulls her feet up and nestles herself in the chair, once again wishing she was resting in his embrace instead.

They sit in silence, as so many evenings before, but the stillness around them does not extend to his mind as Bedelia’s enquiry dwells in his thoughts. He considers indulging her request, but the words do not come to him, the sentiments too close to his core, too long hidden. He does not want them to be _misunderstood_.

Having finished her drink, Bedelia stands up with an empty glass in her hand, breaking the moment and halting his reflections. As she passes by his chair, Hannibal’s hand suddenly wraps around hers, making her stop.

“Yes?” she turns her head towards him, her curiosity sparked anew.

Hannibal thinks about pulling her closer but hesitates and settles for gently caressing her hand up to her wrist.

“Perhaps you can tell me what I fantasised about,” he lets his thumb brush over her palm before releasing her hand.

With a final, inquisitive stare, Bedelia leaves his side and makes her way to the kitchen.

 

The following evening, they enjoy their drinks while discussing their plans to visit the coast. There is no mention of yesterday’s conversation, but Hannibal knows better than to think Bedelia had forgotten about it. And he also knows better than to bring up the subject himself. He does not want to rush anything, moments need to unfold at their own pace.

He smiles at the image of her curled up in the chair, carefully committing it to memory. Every little instant needs to be cherish.

 

The filled glass stands on the table in silent anticipation, as Hannibal hears the bedroom door opening. The whiff of her aroma caresses his nostrils before he senses her standing next to him. He looks up at her with a smile, expecting her to take her usual spot, but instead, she moves forward and perches on his leg. Hannibal swallows a gasp of surprise.

“Have you ever fantasised about this?” she shifts slightly, settling herself on his thigh.

“What do you mean?” instant heat rises within him, fuelled by her proximity.

“You asked me to make my assumptions. Have you ever thought of me sitting on your lap?” she appears to be sitting comfortably, but he can feel the tension in her body, a tight pull reaching up her spine. This is an unusual setting for her, after all.

“Yes,” he utters almost breathlessly, his hands reaching around her waist, slowly and delicately, wishing to ease her strain, “But I thought you were not interested in sexual fantasies,” he adds, rather defensively, being suddenly exposed.

Bedelia inclines her head in contemplation.

“But it is not a sexual fantasy, is it?” her eyes pierce through his mind and it’s exhilarating.

“No, it is not,” his arms wrap around her waist further, all of a sudden brazen. The inviting warmth of her body emanates through the silk and he cannot help but smile and pull her closer.

She does not push him away.

“Why this?” she asks while her hands gently rest on his shoulders.

“Because I wanted to keep you close. In every possible way. Because-” the words which poured smoothly from his lips, now evaporate instantly, as he searches for the right phrase.

He is reluctant to use the word “love”; it is inadequate, limited, too constricted to express what he feels for her. He does not think such word exists.

Her eyes follow his, seeing all the notions rushing behind his eyes. She knows.

“Fantasies are carefully constructed in our minds and we can sculpt them in detail. Reality is flawed and can never live up to them,” her fingers brush the hair on the nape of his neck, inciting the flames within him.

“Not with you, Bedelia. Never with you,” he takes her hand and kisses her palm.

Bedelia smiles but does not comment. Nor does she move. They sit together in silence and Hannibal relishes the feel of her small body resting on his lap. Sometimes he forgets how very petite she is, not a fact she likes to be reminded off, but he adores her built. His hand moves up her back, caressing the curve of her spine and he can feel her tenseness alleviating.

“I believe there is a drink waiting for me,” she speaks at last and stands up, disentwining from his embrace.

She moves to the armchair and takes her glass as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

 

There is no mention of the matter in the following days and whatever conclusions have formed in her mind remain hidden from him. Every now and then, Hannibal fights the urge to pull her on his lap again. Each newly discovered bit of intimacy is thrilling to him, and he wants to submerge himself completely in every sensation. But Bedelia takes things slowly, making him uncertain whether that particular one is to her liking. Still, there is no point in overanalysing it, he concludes.

Affection needs to be unravelled without haste and with utter care.

 

The next week, Hannibal finds himself engrossed in a tedious piece of writing when a familiar sound of heels resonates in the near vicinity, then stops.

“I thought we were going out,” Bedelia states curtly.

“Yes, we are,” Hannibal responds without lifting his head, “I just need to correct this page. The translation errors are _unacceptable_ ,” he adds with annoyance, already thinking of the ways to dispose of his new assistant.

“The writing will still be here when we come back,” she responds with a displeasure of her own. He knows she does not like to be kept waiting.

He sets the page down and moves the chair away from the desk to face her.

“I am sorry,” he meets her gleaming eyes with sincerity.

“I was starting to get bored,” her tone remains indifferent, but her lips smile faintly as she steps closer to him.

“We have to remedy that right away,” he smiles back at her as she wraps her arm around his neck, then inhales sharply as she sits down on his lap.

“Yes, we do,” she responds simply, making no comment on the sudden closeness.

Slowly, his arms envelop her frame. Her body gives in to his touch, pliant and relaxed, her other arm joining the first and encircling his neck, previous reserve long gone.

“Are you sure you want to go out?” he asks cautiously.

He cannot imagine anything better than holding her close. There are so many emotions yet to be discovered here.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by kmo. ♥ Thank you for your continuous support and trust!  
> The title is part of a quote: "Teach me new caresses, gentle ones." by Gabriela Mistral.


End file.
